Ardent Yet Chill And Formal,

No One Knows The Colour Of A Flower Till It Is Broken.

Passionate Grave Thought, Belief Enhanced, Ritual Returned And Magic.

Love That I Bear Within My Breast How Is My Armour Melted How My Heart

It Is No Madness To Say You Will Fall, You Great Cities.

(those Women Whom The Distaff No Longer Claims Nor Spun Cloth) Driven Made, Mad, Mad By Bacchus.